Girls Night In

the blog for single, over-40 women

Little Church in a Farmer’s Field

on April 15, 2014

easter_cross THF 04 2010

Of all the places Ive been in my life, a little church in the middle of a farmers field ranks right up there as one of the most important.

My childhood included church every Sunday and Sunday school class. The family said grace before meals and prayed each night before going to bed. I always knew there was a God out there somewhere, kind of like I know the earth is round and gravity keeps us from flying off into space. It was all head knowledge.

At times throughout the years, people crossed my path who had a different kind of faith than I did.

In the fourth grade, my friend Dallas took me to Kids Crusade at her church and I learned about Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego.

Lauri knocked on my dorm room door my first night at college and invited me to dinner. She also took me to a David Meece concert and told me that I should let Jesus be my boyfriend. (Thats a whole other post!)

Somewhere deep in my soul I felt the call of God through these people, but the babble of the world made it hard to tell where the voice was coming from. So, I went along my way and thought, Someday Ill figure it out.

Then there was Wes. Curly brown hair, big blue eyes. He came to Saturday morning classes smelling of Old Spice and coffee. Cute as he was, the most appealing thing about Wes was the amazing smile and the way his face just radiated joy when he talked about Jesus. He knew something I didnt know and I set out to discover what that was.

I went to my friend Jan who had been very open about what God was doing in her life. She patiently answered all my questions about what it meant to be saved and how you hear Jesus.

Then she invited me to church.

On Sunday morning, with a light drizzle wetting the windshield, she and her husband took me miles out of town to a little, bitty church in the middle of a farmers field. And that morning I felt it! I walked away knowing I had been in the presence of the Lord and it felt good.

A week later, I went back to that little church for an Easter musical. While I watched Jesus whipped and scourged, I was transported in my mind to that dusty hill. Feeling as if I was there, I witnessed the agony of His death on the cross and the truth broke through my heart. My sin put Him on the cross, but He stayed because He loved me.

Later when the pastor asked if anyone needed Jesus, I raised my hand. That little church changed my life. It isnt always easy, but Hes always just a prayer away and that still amazes me . . . if I slow down enough to let it soak through me.


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